Wandering
by SlyRavengirl
Summary: Things easily could have been different. Perhaps if Harry Potter had never been placed in the Muggle World. Rating likely to change in the future. Will contain Slash (M/M pairings).
1. The Child in the Manor

Harry stared listlessly out of the grand window overlooking the expansive frost covered grounds of Gaunt Manor. He had been in the manor forsix months now, quickly digesting all of what his savior had to offer. It was a far cry from his living conditions before he had met his rescuer and Harry easily expressed his gratitude by doing as told, but he was essentially waiting for the other shoe to drop. Harry could not say that he trusted the man, he could not even say if what the man-or wizard-told him was true. Was he really Harry James Potter? For some reason he did not think the name suited him well. He wondered, dully if things could have been different if he had never been left with _those_ people. Perhaps, he could have been a different person.

"Have you eaten?"

Harry was not startled by the sudden presence of the man in question. The Lord of the manor had a way of sneaking around silently, merging with the shadows only to spring out unexpectedly with a question in that low baritone. It was terrifying, but Harry knew that he could be enduring much worse than the wizard's hospitality.

"Some."

It might as well had been a no. The wizard always seemed to know when he was lying, so Harry avoided it. He had become quite skilled at lying to the fat man who beat him almost daily and it had barely saved him from some of the more violent attacks on his person, yet he could not help but be close to truthful with this wizard.

This wizard had rescued him after all.

The wizard seemed to ask after his diet and sleeping habits almost every time they met. At first, Harry had been embarrassed by it: too strong-willed to admit that he needed anything. He believed that he could continue living as he had, with as little food and water as possible. Lord Riddle would not allow him to do nothing for hours on end as he was used to after being locked in a cupboard. Harry could not help but wonder if the man knew even half of the things he had endured besides the cramped space and malnutrition.

"Come, then. You will dine with me."

It was rare. Harry stood to follow. On some occasions, Harry would find himself dining in the wizard's presence, but they most often took their meals separately. Lord Riddle, as he insisted Harry call him, preferred to be out of the manor rather than in it. He tested Harry regularly on the subjects that he instructed him in as well. Harry could say that he was more comfortable with the basic Muggle mathematics and reading comprehension than he was with magical theory and Latin, but he would never admit that. He was rather fascinated with Wizarding laws and customs, however.

It was a short walk to the formal dining room. Gaunt Manor was simply furnished, though rigid with its lack of occupants. And as expected the dining table was already set, candles flickering lightly on the table and walls throwing golden shadows across the room.

He saw no servants, human or otherwise anywhere near the dining room as he sat on the left side of the table, close to the middle, while Lord Riddle chose the head facing the entrance. Once his napkin was folded in his lap and his silverware laid out properly, the food appeared before him.

His host said nothing as he implored Harry to begin eating. Harry knew what this was, he was intelligent to know that when he was given access to a library full of books he should take advantage of such. Lord Riddle was teaching him, not so subtly, pureblood etiquette. Harry wanted to know why. While it was amazing to learn that he was not a freak of nature, but a wizard, he did not think he wanted any thing to do with the Wizarding World as of yet. There was a safety in being kept a secret in Lord Riddle's Manor; an ease that he knew he probably would not be granted later on in life.

He had not asked many questions, though there was a thirst for knowledge that burned in him and he realized that Lord Riddle could sense that. He could easily look up his family heritage, pureblood lines could be traced back centuries throughout history and from his subtle lessons Harry could only assume that Lord Riddle was nothing less than a pureblood; he would surely have a book of Wizarding Geneology. However, Harry wanted to hear it from the wizard's mouth. He had never requested anything as such before and while he had never seen Lord Riddle in anger, he did not want to push him there.

Harry swallowed while his thoughts continued to run rampant in his mind, but he kept his eyes on his plate refusing to so much as look at Lord Riddle in his current emotional state. Harry had never seen the man express any emotion toward him.

"You wish to ask something of me?"

"I have every necessity, sir."

It was dodging, Harry knew, yet he doubted that he had avoided the wizard's inquiry. In fact, he had probably only succeeded in adding suspicion to himself.

"You needn't hesitate with me, Harry. I would not hurt you."

For a long while, Harry remained silent, greatly disliking the way his name sounded on Lord Riddle's tongue. He was beginning to hate that name: Harry, but he supposed it was much better than being called 'boy' or 'son' or Mr. Potter. Yet Harry could not help but wonder at Lord Riddle's sincerity. He had known brutality for so many years. He could only imagine how much more damage magic could do than fists and belts.

"What is my history, sir?"

It was a rather blunt question. Harry was not necessarily trying to imply that Lord Riddle was purposefully keeping him in the dark about something, but he could not help but get that feeling. He had an inkling that they shared more of a connection than just victim and rescuer. Lord Riddle was keeping things to himself for a reason, and Harry had no doubt that if Lord Riddle did not want him to know, then Harry would simply be left in the dark.

"You presume that I know?"

Harry said nothing. There was no such thing as coincidence, not with magic. He could at least feel that. And he could feel that Lord Riddle was testing him on his pureblood mannerisms: emotions were not to get the best of him.

"Your parents were James Charlus Potter and Lily Rose Potter neé Evans, your father comes from a very old pureblood family, you are the last direct descendant alive, though you have...cousins. Your mother was from a Muggle family as you very well know. They were targeted and murdered for their position in a war around the time you were one year and a few months old."

Harry blinked, taking in the information. There was something about the wording in the last sentence that bothered him. Not that there had been a war in the Wizarding World, not even that Lord Riddle had skirted around saying who attacked them, but he said they were targeted because of their position. Had they been generals or of high rank? How had it come to pass that he was left with Muggles when he had wizarding family left alive?

"I am not a pureblood, but I should have been raised by one. What affect did my parents death have on the outcome of the war?"

Harry tried to be calm as he asked the question, and had he been watching Lord Riddle's expression he would have noticed the dark look that crossed the wizard's face. It had been an unexpected question.

"Their deaths had no affect on the war, but it did end the night they died. It was your survival that changed everything. Something transpired that night that caused one side of the war to lose all hope."

Harry had no idea that it was he, a mere infant who had ended the war. His mind was rather one-track: he had been meant to die that night. Maybe that was why he felt so out of place in the world. He was never really meant to stay in it.

"Why are you making me ask you these questions, when you could just tell the story in full. You make it sound as though you were there."

It was a light jab, one that Harry did not have the grace or finesse to pull off seamlessly, but that would come with Lord Riddle's tutelage he was sure. He was left with a cold feeling deep in his heart as he looked up at Lord Riddle for the first time that night.

The man sat regally, straight-backed in the throne of a chair at the head of the table. His dark hair fell in waves around his bare face, making him seem as though he were rather young even with the gray touching the corner of his temples. Lord Riddle had the features of high aristocracy, a pointed nose and high cheekbones, though his brow and chin were rather wide set they suited him quite well. The piercing gray eyes stared at him with all of the confident arrogance of a someone in a high position of authority. It was a look that he had seen his uncle attempt to imitate only to shed quickly once he fell to his gluttonous qualities.

The man was striking.

"Do not get ahead of your position, you are a guest. Ask the questions that are most pressing and least obvious You are doing well. Do not grow impatient."

It was a lesson hard learned, Harry realized. Patience was almost an impossible virtue to teach and even more impossible to master if one did not possess it naturally. Inwardly, he took a deep breath. Manipulating words he rarely had to use had never been his strong suit. In truth, the first book he had picked up to study on his own had been a dictionary only to keep up with his host's eloquent vocalizations.

"What were the goals on either side of the war?"

Harry had to look at this as a rare opportunity. When would he ever be able to ask a wizard of obviously high standing an unlimited number of questions. Children had questions, it was expected, but he would not be a child forever. He would not always have the excuse. He could see why this was an important game to play, information was knowledge and knowledge was power. Lord Riddle had taught him that rule.

"One side wishes to incorporate Muggles and Muggle-borns into Wizarding Society, the other side refuses."

The answer was short and crisp, not revealing Lord Riddle's position on the matter, or his side in the war though it was rather easy to determine. Purebloods were naturally the most traditional faction of wizards. If anyone had a problem against Muggles and Muggle-borns it would be purebloods. They were obviously purebloods for a reason; typically if one pureblood were to have intimate dealings with a Muggle or Muggle-born they were disinherited. In the not so distant past, however, the consequences had been much more severe. The Wizarding World must have changed quite drastically with the influx of Muggle-borns and even more Muggles knowing about magic.

But was there really a way to create magic out of nothing? The existence of Muggle-borns simply did not make sense to him. But that was not where his line of questioning needed to go.

"I am the Potter heir, but I was placed in the guardianship of Muggles, but they have no control of my magical dealings. I would have a Godfather or someone named Magical Guardian. Do you know who those persons are?"

With that question came a rather startling smirk on Lord Riddle's countenance. He had never seen the man smile, or smirk before, but something told him that it had nothing to do with humor. Harry wondered if it was a sign of approval.

"I see you have been reading quite a lot on the subject of purebloods and standard wizarding customs. The man named your Godfather is also a cousin of yours, he has been imprisoned for betraying your parents whereabouts the night they were attacked. His imprisonment, however, is based on accusation and not fact. The man named your Magical Guardian is one named Albus Dumbledore and he does know that your Godfather may have been innocent when he was imprisoned."

Harry sucked in a breath, but he was not quiet enough to keep Lord Riddle from hearing it. Albus Dumbledore was the Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry; the school his parents had attended and the same one that he was no doubt expected to attend. Albus Dumbledore had placed him with Muggles. Albus Dumbledore had abandoned him in the Muggle world. Harry closed his eyes, letting the hate engulf him for seconds before he stamped it down.

There was only one person that he hated more than Albus Dumbledore, and while he knew he should hate the wizard who destroyed his parents he could not. His parents had not put up enough safeguards to protect themselves, they had relied on someone else and that someone else was probably Albus Dumbledore. Harry's eyes shot open. He was speculating and that would not do. Jumping to conclusions was never the best course of action.

"My parents were on the side of accepting Muggle-borns, obviously, how were they a threat to the other side?"

This was a tough question and Harry knew that he did not word it correctly, his parents had not necessarily been a threat to the other side, but he was wary against the other option, and he was avoiding the truth of it. He were to admit the truth, it would be that he had been the threat that the wizard had been trying to nullify and his parents were collateral damage.

"Your parents were rather inconsequential."

It was the harsh tone that Lord Riddle had spoke those words in that let Harry know just how much he enjoyed Harry playing dumb. He had already figured that part out. Harry felt fear jump in his throat and he felt as though the space between himself and Lord Riddle were shrinking though they were right in the same spots as they had been when dinner had started only half an hour ago.

"What role did you play in the war?"

It was a broad statement. Harry could clearly see that it was much too broad for the older man's liking, but he could also tell that Lord Riddle did not want to give him a reason to distrust him and he would be doing just that if he did not answer because while it was broad, Harry was indirectly asking if Lord Riddle was the one who had killed his parents without even realizing it.

"I led the side of the war that killed your parents, though it was more than that. It was my own wand that laid them to rest, and my own wand that gave you that scar on your forehead."

Lord Riddle would say nothing more, but Harry did not want him to. He could feel something crumble inside of him. Lord Riddle was the reagent that had destroyed his life. Lord Riddle, the one who was molding him into the personification of pureblood aristocrat was the one who had killed his parents. But rage was not his first emotion. Perhaps being surrounded by the man for the last six months had done that to him. He could feel the anger boiling beneath the surface, but it was directed to Albus Dumbledore. He had yet to meet the man, but he hated him already. He was angry with Lord Riddle. Angry that the man had not been upfront about this information.

It was rather underhanded, but Harry could see and understand a bit better. He did not know how he would have reacted if he had awoken as he had, chained nude to a bed and been told by his rescuer that he was the person who had murdered his parents. There were others factors that needed to present themselves. Harry needed time to think. He wanted time away from Lord Riddle, but was there really a way to escape the man in his own home? No.

And really who did he have. He was curious to know why Lord Riddle had not killed him yet. He still had so many questions, but he was tired of trying to put them all into a decent order to present them. He could ask Lord Riddle questions all night, but he would still be clueless. Even with the information that he had just been presented, Harry knew he was powerless. He would stand nothing fleeing from Lord Riddle and something told him that he would not make it very far anyway. The wizard was cold, but Harry was glad that this had been revealed to him. Obviously, Lord Riddle wanted him to know this now. Something was about to happen that would cause a shift in their interactions, that much was apparent.

"You came to me through my scar, how?"

"Let me tell you this, Harry. Your scar is the reason why I am here today."

It was like a cold bucket of iced water had been dumped on him with the revelation and bout of confusion swept through him. He had both saved and destroyed Lord Riddle when the man had attacked him, how? The man had avoided the question expertly, but doused Harry in a puzzle that would make his head spin for days.

Lord Riddle stood and Harry realized that he had run out of time without asking a rather vital question: why had he been targeted as an infant in the first place?

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Harry had managed to process a lot of the shock that had come from the information that Lord Riddle had all but forced on him. He could not help but assume that the timing had a large role to play. As Harry stared blindly at the letter from Hogwarts he realized that several key emotions had been ingrained in him. He could never trust Albus Dumbledore and in all actuality if he were hard pressed to make a decision he did not believe that he would be on the side of the war that accepted Muggle interaction. Muggles were dangerous to Wizards.

They were not in Guant Manor at the moment, but Malfoy Manor. Harry had yet to meet the Lord and Lady Malfoy or their children. He noted that the letter had been addressed to his exact position within the Manor and that was when Harry realized why they were there. For one, the Malfoy family was an old pureblood family obviously they stuck to the traditional pureblood ways, and two, Lord Riddle did not want anyone to even have an inkling of where Gaunt Manor was located. Additionally, Harry could only imagine how shocked the Headmaster of the school would be when he realized that he was not with his Muggle relatives but already had a growing knowledge of the Wizarding World and Magic.

Harry was counting on that knowledge.

The letter was standard. He would have thought that at the very least they would have realized something sooner, but there seemed to be nothing out of the ordinary with his letter. It was rather distracting. He believed Lord Riddle, and if what the man had told him was correct then he was something of a celebrity in the Wizarding World. He expected that the Headmaster would care just a little bit more.

Harry glared at the letter and moved from his spot where he had been studying, ironically, House Elf magic. The letter had appeared magically before him, not from an owl or other type of delivery system; seeing as the library he was in had no windows. House Elves were intriguing to him because everything they did was centered around pleasing and easing the lives of wizards, yet he found their magic incredible. They could appear and disappear at will, they could move without being seen, they had strong defensive magic of their own.

They could easily overtake wizards in their own home and Harry wanted to know what was stopping them. Some of the subjects he would study in school would be new to him, but at the same time he already knew quite a lot about them. He had never studied Potions or Transfiguration or even Herbology, spending as much of his time garnering knowledge about history, culture, Magical Theory and Charms and Wards. But he was a quick learner and he was getting better at detecting Lord Riddle.

"It's time formal introductions were made. We will be going into Diagon Alley for your school things."

Harry glanced at Lord Riddle out of the corner of his eye. The wizard seemed to have a bit of a different persona now that he was in Malfoy Manor. He seemed more intimidating, powerful and dangerous. It was coming to a year that Harry had been with Lord Riddle, though it seemed like much less time than that. He could not believe that it was July already.

Harry moved to follow Lord Riddle from the library. The wizard was not dressed as simply as he was used to seeing him, he looked like the pureblood supremacists that had once ruled the Wizarding World through blood and money. Those traditions had been lost on the majority, Harry knew, and it was one of the things Lord Riddle had fought for in the war.

His role was still a mystery to him. Harry could not imagine how a war over Muggles and blood purity could have anything to do with him. He wondered what had made him a target.

Lord Riddle remained silent as they made their way throughout the grand manor. The Malfoys spared no expense in showing their wealth. They wanted everyone, no matter which corridor they walked, to know just how wealthy they were. In that regard, Harry missed the large windows and simple decor of the Gaunt Manor. It was cold, but it was a lot more like a home than the museum he was in now. Harry had not been surprised when Lord Riddle told him that all of the Malfoys were buried in a crypt on the property as opposed to a graveyard.

Eventually, Harry found himself in a comfortable looking sitting room with plush armchairs and low tables. The fire was lit. but Harry did not find the room at all uncomfortable , at least not as uncomfortable as they four sets of eyes that had watched him enter. He bowed moderately in a traditional pureblood greeting, and they returned the same.

Lord Malfoy was the first to speak.

"I am Lucius Malfoy, Lord Malfoy and Undersecretary to the Minister of Magic in Great Britain. My wife, Narcissa and our children; my heir, Draco and my daughter Lyra. Welcome to our home."

The wizard's voice was smooth, an easy greeting for a man who obviously took pride in his family and spent quite a lot of time prepping them for the public. Lord Malfoy was of high political standing, he spent a lot of time in the public eye.

"I, Harry James Potter thank you for your hospitality."

Harry felt awkward but he hid it as best he could. This was a different type of formality than he was accustomed to. He knew that this would not be the last time that he would have to be painfully formal and he could only hope that he would grow used to it.

"Draco and I will accompany you to Diagon Alley. I will not be in accompaniment, Harry."

Harry felt a bit of magic wash over him as Lord Riddle touched his wand to the back of his head. Harry had never seen Lord Riddle's wand and it was the first time he could remember it had even been on his person. But it was necessary; he had to be disguised if he wanted to move freely in Diagon Alley.

"Come, James."

He swallowed his distaste, not liking the name James, though he understood why he was called that. Harry turned to look, but Lord Riddle was already gone and Lady Malfoy and the six year old Lyra were once again seated, patiently waiting for them to leave.

He had used the Floo before, when they had arrived to Malfoy Manor. In fact, Lord Riddle had instructed Harry to go back and forth through the Floo several times until he was comfortable with the system and did not disgrace himself exiting the green flames. Draco was the first to enter, obviously having the same practice he did.

Harry could not help but marvel at the green flames. Who knew that wizards could travel by fire. From reading he knew that the fireplace had to be magically charmed to work in conjunction with the Floo network and that some Floos could be blocked, but it was still amazing to him that magic could turn something so simple as a fireplace into something so extraordinary.

It was his turn next, and with a deep breath and a handful of Floo powder, Harry threw in the powder before stepping in and calling out Diagon Alley. Draco was waiting for him on the other side.

One of the first things that Harry noticed about Draco was that he was much bigger than himself, though hardly as large as his Muggle cousin. Harry knew he was rather small for his age though Lord Riddle was trying to remedy that, the damage had already been done. Draco would probably always be much taller than him. Like his father, the boy had platinum blond hair and pale blue eyes, only bringing attention to his pale alabaster skin. The heart shaped face and pointed features made it impossible to mistake Draco for anyone but the Malfoy heir.

In seconds, Lord Malfoy arrived through the Floo and Harry turned to survey his surroundings. They were in a pub of some sort. It was dark, dingy and not at all like Malfoy Manor. The crowd was thick with a heavy mixture of adults and children: this was obviously the gateway to Diagon Alley. Everyone had received their letters already and were here for school supplies. Harry did not favor the crowds, but he could see why Lord Malfoy would put himself in the public like this. His heir was entering his first year of Hogwarts. The wizard was posturing.

The crowd seemed to part effortlessly for the three of them. Lord Malfoy was obviously no man to play with. He was the Undersecretary after all, he held more power than most; some would even go as far as to say that he was more powerful than the Minister of Magic. Harry was really beginning to hate politics.

"Ah, our first stop."

Harry noted that the traffic at this bookstore was a lot less than the other-Flourish and Blotts-yet Harry was busy trying to digest everything in sight. He was not so simple as to be impressed by a moving wall behind a dingy pub when they entered, but the actual Alley itself was quite impressive. Even all the way at the other end of the Alley he could see the glorious white marble building of Gringotts Wizarding Bank. It was as magnificent as it was described in the books.

"This is Rosier Bookshop, James. Another time, you may look around but not now. We have quite a lot of shopping that needs to be accomplished."

Harry took the warning that he was meant to stay with Malfoy at all times and not wander off. Draco was silently watching his father though he passed Harry a glance every now and then. Harry could tell that the blond boy had quite a lot of questions to ask him.

When they entered Lord Malfoy was greeted immediately and with the utmost respect. His pre-ordered purchases were magically shrunken and placed in a magically expanded bag and they left the store quickly. Much of their excursion followed suit, though they spent quite a lot of time in Twilfit and Tattings and Magical Menagerie. The Malfoy heir already had a familiar and Harry was happy to choose his own: a small black cat with similar green eyes and a small patch of white on his chest. The cat was quite and small, and Harry felt oddly peaceful holding him.

He needed to come up with an appropriate name. And while it was probably not appropriate for him to be cuddling a cat on the inside of his robes he could not very well put the cat back in a cage. He hated small spaces, even if they were not for him.

Diagon Alley in itself was quite small with all of the people bustling about and Harry wondered if it was always this crowded. They stayed only in one section of the Alley, and Harry was curious as to what else resided there. It could hardly be only reserved for shopping.

Ollivander's Wand Shop was their last stop and Harry felt a little bit of hesitation. Briefly, he wished that Lord Riddle had accompanied him, but he knew that he had no right to ask the man that. It felt odd that he was about to spend little more than nine months apart from the only person who had ever shown him true and consistent kindness. Lord Riddle was really the only person who had ever bothered to take care of him.

The wand shop, unlike most that he had entered with the male Malfoys, was darker with a fine settling of dust over everything. Glancing at both Lord Malfoy and Draco he could see their obvious disgust with anything that was anything near dusty, but neither he nor Draco had wands so it was a necessary trip.

Ollivander was standing in a shadowed corner, but Harry had noticed him almost immediately, already used to Lord Riddle's machinations. He was observing them, and Harry had a suspicion that Ollivander knew exactly who he was despite his disguise.

"Mr. Potter and Mr. Malfoy. I've been expecting you."

The voice was a quiet rasp that caused the elder Malfoy to stiffen as Ollivnder appeared suddenly behind them. Harry wondered exactly how had the man moved without anyone seeing him. He slinked around them behind them counter. A pale, dirty wisp of a man with stringy gray hair and wild blue eyes. Harry had no idea the kind of magic that went into wand making, but he could only imagine that it took a great deal of strength to touch that magic regularly.

"We are on a tight schedule, Mr. Ollivander."

Lord Malfoy sneered, but Ollivander barely glanced at him as he beckoned Draco to come closer. Harry was curious though he knew that he would go through the same.

"It is not the Master that chooses the wand, but the wand that chooses the Master. Your first wand, does not have to be your only wand, but there will hardly ever be a wand that would suit you better."

While speaking, Mr. Ollivander place a long, thin box in front of Draco. Harry watched as Draco opened the box hesitantly and took the wand into his hand. Mr. Ollivander's eyes seemed to glitter.

"Ah, yes! Your father should be proud. ten inches exactly, Hawthorn wood and with a unicorn hair core. Almost exactly as his first. Though his was rather unyielding if I do say so myself."

Harry watched Draco look to his father and then back to his wand before his hand tightened around it, and with a simple vertical movement he cast his first spell.

"_Protego_!"

The shield shot up bright and red around the blond, covering him from all sides. Harry was curious if Lord Malfoy had taught Draco magic without him being in school. He knew that magic could be accomplished without a wand, but it was not very wide known. Wands were stabilizers, without a wand the magic could easily backfire on the caster. Draco released his shield and stepped back to stand next to his father who placed a proud hand on his shoulder.

"Mr. Potter. Quite amazing things can be done without a wand. Brilliant things." The old wizard's voice was grave and quickly he grasped Harry's hand before letting go just as quickly. Harry felt as though the wandmaker had somehow read his mind.

Harry was still quite unused to touch that did not result in some kind of pain for him, and the shock left him a bit disoriented. Mr. Ollivander was looking at him with those same bright, wild eyes that he had cast on Draco and he moved to place several boxes in front of Harry before taking them away again. None of them would work.

None of them.

Harry felt as though he had been presented with every wand in the store, touched a little less than half and he was becoming worried. What if he did not have any magic and therefore that was why he did not have a wand that chose him. What if he really was a Muggle and he was not actually Harry James Potter. What if Lord Riddle had lied and was only trying to hurt him.

He picked a wand that was so pale it was almost white and he felt it pulse in his hand.

"Twelve inches and three-fourths, aspen. Threstral tail hair. Amazing, Mr. Potter. This wand has seen Death and all of history."

Harry could feel the wand burning in his hand, and he wondered how he had ever lived before without having it. The little black cat stirred against him and he wondered if the cat could feel the same magic from the wand that he could. It was old, even older than Mr. Ollivander.

"Of course this wand would choose you, with your bloodline. I'm surprised it did not choose your father, but then again he was always a little complacent."

Harry did not know what the man meant when he was referring to his bloodline and it sparked his curiosity. He was anxious to ask the old wizard some questions, but he also did not want the elder Malfoy to know. Harry could not trust the man.

"You may take payment from Gringotts, Mr. Ollivander. Thank you for your time."

As Lord Malfoy escorted Harry and Draco from the quaint shop, Harry could not shake the feeling that this would not be the last time he would see Mr. Ollivander.


	2. The Boy Who Lived

A/N: There are probably typos in this, and I really don't like this chapter much at all. It's pure and ugly filler. Sorry.

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Chapter Two: The Boy Who Lived

The Boy Who Lived After one week at Hogwarts, Harry decided that he hated whoever came up with that ridiculous title, and he also decided that he hated being the owner of that title. It had been literally weeks since he had spoken with Lord Riddle, and Draco was his only connection so far in the student body. It was hardly enough. Most of the Gryffindors refused to even look at him with anything but contempt since he chose to associate with Slytherins, and even his fellow Ravenclaws tended to ignore him in preference for their books-or each other. He might as well have been a leper; he felt so isolated.

As for the Headmaster, Harry had not been impressed with the Gandalf-impersonator. The magic that the elderly wizard possessed was incredible, the type of magic that not one singular person could contend with or even control. Harry wondered if that was why the wizard dressed so strangely: the tight control Dumbledore had on his magic slipped in some areas. If the Welcoming Feast was anything to go by, those areas were most likely observed publicly...with ridicule. It was already October and he had yet to come face to face with the Headmaster. Harry did not doubt that the Headmaster had some sort of plan; that the wizard was not highly suspicious of his whereabouts during the past year. It was oddly, not what Harry had been expecting of the supposed Gryffindor alum.

With a sigh, Harry turned back to finish the Charms essay that as due back in a week's time. The library was quiet, but as it was a Friday after classes it was nearly empty save for the students in blue and gold robes, but even they were slight. Harry felt that he spent most of his time in the library, rather than his own room in the Ravenclaw dormitory. He felt a little less alone when his only company was someone other than Gideon, the little black cat who was his constant companion. But even the Ravenclaws surrounding him were few, especially third years and up: it was a Hogsmeade weekend they were preparing for.

"Harry."

Harry stopped himself from scrunching his face up in distaste to stare at Draco in front of him. The Draco at Malfoy Manor was different from the Draco at Hogwarts. Harry did not like the change, he felt as though he had been lied to for some reason. In school, Draco was still the haughty, spoiled heir he had been raised to be, but now he had a cruel streak a mile wide. There was none of the gentleness he had for Lyra or his mother, and the respect for authority that he showed around Lord Riddle and his father was completely absent. It was borderline disgusting.

"Malfoy, you look well."

Of course Harry could not forget his training. Even now, when it felt as if Lord Riddle had abandoned him to the mercy of Hogwarts, he could not simply go back on what he had been taught. He was a part of the Wizarding World now, he refused to start acting like the clueless Muggle-born he was supposed to act like.

"Thank you, as do you. I have some correspondence for you. If you would be so kind as to respond with Alsafi, call her to you from the Astronomy Tower as she refuses to stay in the Owlery."

Draco placed a letter on the desk on top of his supplementary Charms text and with a quick fairwell joined Crabbe and Goyle, two overgrown snakes that had eaten one too many Pumpkin Pasties.

Harry succinctly the letter, choosing to pull his book from under it and continue his work. He liked to think that he was rebelling and Lord Riddle would somehow know it, even if he was not physically there to see it. He even managed to concentrate on finishing the week's school work and some assignments due in the near future as opposed to continuing his previous train of thought. But eventually all of the school work dissipated around him, and even the lingering bookworms had dispersed: it was almost seven; dinner time.

When he finally picked the letter up in his hand he could feel some of the residual magic on it, activating whatever privacy charm on it. Leaving it for later, he placed it neatly in his bag along with the rest of his books and parchment and left for the Great Hall.

Harry could not help but find it a little disconcerting that everyone seemed to desire to eat their meals at the same time. He chalked it up to boarding school life, but by the time he got to the Great Hall nearly every seat was filled. Even all of the faculty made an appearance at dinner. Harry would have preferred to take most of his meals alone, as he had grown used to doing at Gaunt Manor. For the most part all of the students had the same eating pattern: talking with a minimal amount of eating. It was bothersome. Harry was just glad that after the first night, there was nothing as grand or spectacular as Dumbledore's messages. He did not think he could attend dinner every night if they had to sing the school song to any individual tune before every meal. He would have figured something else out.

For him, dinner was a quiet affair. Most of the other Ravenclaws spoke in quiet whispers, and some even used spells to keep their conversations private. Harry sat between a first year and a second year, obviously acting as some line of demarcation between the two groups of students that were content to pay little to no attention to him. Everything went as it normally did, and by dessert Harry had relaxed marginally. He was still very on edge being around so many people at once.

"Potter, you have a message."

Terry Boot was a third year Ravenclaw and Charms prodigy with choppy sandy blond hair and slightly bucked teeth. In short, Harry only knew him because Professor Flitwick recommended that if any of them had trouble with the schoolwork to seek out Boot. Sometimes, Harry wondered just how oblivious his Head of House could be.

It was the second note he received today, though this one was done without the Malfoy-grandeur. It was addressed to him, but other than that the envelope was bare. Harry decided that it could only be from the Headmaster-as there was no one else he thought would desire to speak to him, and it was:

_Harry,_

_please report to the Headmaster's office after you are finished dinner. I prefer the same dessert. Thank you. _

_-Professor Dumbledore._

It was odd, and disconcertingly personal. Needn't to mention if Harry had not taken to exploring every visible inch of the castle, he would likely have not been able to find the Headmaster's office by the end of the night. It was on one of his long exploratory walks after curfew that he had seen Professor Snape stalking to the odd looking gargoyle that seemed to be watching him. He folded the note neatly and stored it in his robes.

Unlike the Muggle world with the trash bins stored in every corner of their universe, the wizarding world had none of that. Harry was curious as to where everything that was magically disposed of went to. Magical people nearly always used magical means to dispose of unwanted items, but Harry could not help but feel as if the item or items had never really just blinked out of existence. Like your problems, you could not just magic everything away: even if it was as unimportant as a piece of paper.

With little interest left in his dessert he abandoned the Great Hall, and the rest of the student body still milling about over hot chocolate and the upcoming Quidditch match and headed to the seventh floor. This was the conversation that he had been waiting for. Of course, he had many questions. There were things that Lord Riddle could not tell him, and a small part of him wished that some of the things he had learned were not true. He was the Boy Who Lived, but he just knew that it could not be as simple as surviving the Killing Curse.

Lord Riddle had described the events with the detail of a third-party observer rather than a participant. Harry would never admit it out loud, but Lord Riddle did not know everything about that night, and it was worrying. If he was the one who survived, was the memory lost somewhere in his head? Was magic the answer to the mystery?

"Treacle tart."

Harry was slightly incensed when he arrived at the gargoyle sooner than he anticipated. He did not want the Headmaster thinking that he would respond with vigor to his beck and call. Even if he were the Headmaster, Harry could not just let him demand his presence. He was already indebted to Lord Riddle, he did not need Dumbledore thinking he had any semblance of control over him.

The Headmaster's office was rather unsurprising. It was an organized mess that spoke to the chaos that was Dumbledore's brain. Sparkling, tingling, silvery devices covered quite a lot of space alongside old, and valuable looking magical artifacts. If Lord Riddle were to see the poor state of some of the items he would call it blasphemy and hex whoever was responsible for the care of the priceless items. Harry had observed that Lord Riddle had a bit of an obsession with priceless magical pieces.

"Thank you for joining us, Harry."

Harry let out a deep breath that he had not realized he'd been holding. He was not sure what he could have been nervous about, but he was just glad that the nervousness had left him and he could act as normally as possible. The Headmaster was not alone in the office, but his own Head of House had joined him as well as the Potions Master Professor Snape. Harry was curious as to why the other Heads of Houses were absent as well.

"Good evening, Professors."

"Please take a seat, Harry. It is very late and I do not wish to keep you long past curfew, but I do hope that you have settled in to Hogwarts nicely. Would you like some tea?"

"No thank you, Headmaster."

And Harry sat down in one of the disgusting purple armchairs that were far too soft and comfortable to be in the Head Disciplinarian's office. He could feel all three sets of eyes staring at him: one sparkling like the trinkets scattered around, the other squinty and concerned behind too big glasses, and the last suspicious and dark. Harry avoided all three of those gazes, preferring to stare directly at the Headmaster's half-moon spectacles that sat on the bridge of his too pointy nose.

"Very well, to cut to the point, m'boy, it has come to our attention that you were not in the care of your guardians for at least a year. It appears that one of your neighbors knew that you were the Boy Who Lived and when you disappeared they frantically contacted us with the information. On top of that, when you had your medical examination with Madame Pomfrey she noted that you were a bit underweight."

Dumbledore had a slight smile on his face and Harry wanted to go on the defensive. Nothing of what the Headmaster had just said to him was reassuring in the least. Someone connected to the magical community lived on Privet Drive and that someone had the ability to contact Dumbledore directly; Dumbledore who was supposed to be his Magical Guardian.

"Professor, with all due respect, you said that a neighbor contacted you and not my own relatives? Doesn't that seem odd to you?"

He could see the surprise in the elderly wizard's face, and he just knew that tonight would be a long night. He could dodge indirect questioning in his sleep.

"I can only imagine that when your relatives realized you were missing they found your neighbor to contact us. Of course, we had no idea if the situation was Muggle-related or magical, but we did what we could to find you. We needed to keep the information from the media, just in case some other devious persons tried to find you."

Devious persons. Inwardly, Harry snorted. The only devious person he had met so far was Headmaster Dumbledore who seemed content in spinning lies around him.

"I don't know if my relatives would have really done that, it would have made them looked odd that their nephew that no one had ever seen before suddenly went missing. They hate weird things like that. I was completely safe, it was much better than living with my relatives."

Harry answered evenly. The tension in the room was palpable. It was clear that Flitwick had the power to end the conversation, but he was afraid to do so. Professor Snape seemed to be seething, whether he or Dumbledore was the cause he could not be certain.

"Certainly, m'boy when you get to live without rules and restrictions for an entire year without the guidance of people who care for you, it is bound to be fun."

"I suppose, Headmaster, but that wasn't what I was referring to. I had a lot of rules to follow, and a study schedule, and a bedtime. Well, after I healed and I could walk and see properly I had physical exercise and wizarding etiquette training. How else could I be doing so well in classes."

"What do you mean, Harry? Didn't your relatives teach you all about the wizarding world before? Your parents would have had mountains of information on the subject so that you could prepare for it."

Harry was impressed that Professor Flitwick managed to cut into the conversation. Dumbledore looked surprised as well, but if he was bothered by it he managed to hide it well.

"Well, my relatives don't like magic to put it lightly. We weren't even allowed to use the word in the house. I knew I was different and odd things happened around me. Uh, I spent a lot of time by myself."

"Right, m'boy. But where were you exactly when you went missing? You said you were safe, but with whom?"

"Well, this past summer I spent with the Malfoys in Malfoy Manor. They are the ones who showed me Diagon Alley for my school supplies. I have mostly been out of the country with distant relatives."

They were only half-truths. He had been out of the country with distant relatives; he had been in Britain and France with Narcissa who shared the Black heritage with him.

"Yet, you came to school underweight, Harry."

Headmaster Dumbledore spoke condescendingly, as if he were the one responsible for his condition.

"True, I've been working on that. It will take a while to correct the years of damage."

Harry mumbled quietly. He did not necessarily like being smaller than the rest of the students his age, but in this case it would work to his advantage. In regards to his well-being, he needed as many people as possible to doubt the Headmaster. He could already see the wheels turning in Professor Snape's head when he glanced at the man, who had for a moment lost his scowling countenance. His Head of House had adopted a sour look on his face and it was likely that he had already worked out the meaning of his words. The Headmaster's reaction was off, he looked disappointed.

A small bead of worry began to coagulate in the back of Harry's mind.

The Headmaster is an idiot, Harry decided, but he could not really believe that anyone could be as stupid as that. The elderly wizard had blatantly chosen to ignore all of his hints about his neglectful relatives in favor of implying that he had some kind of eating disorder. Of course, Harry could see the ploy for what it was: Dumbledore wanted him to spend time with Professor Snape under the guise of maintaining his health with potions. It was complete rubbish.

The Ravenclaw common room was easily reached on the fifth floor through the huge circular wooden door. Regardless, it was not the only entrance. A secret staircase from the seventh to the first floor showcased long corridors that seemingly ran throughout the castle. Harry had no idea if the staircase was a meeting place for the corridors or one of several; the one to the fifth floor led directly to the Ravenclaw Library. It seemed as if the knowledge had been lost with time. The Ravenclaw Library was caked with dust even after Harry had cast several cleaning spells on the room, and all of the books were stuck in place. Through the Library you could reach the common room door and the bronze eagle knocker.

Finally ensconced in his dorm, after managing to avoid a few of the upper years who still lingered in the common room Harry was able to think about the conversation he'd had with Professor Dumbledore. Harry just wanted to expose the coward for who he really was, and it made him think about Muggleborns most of all. If his relatives had treated him like that, and they had years to get used to magic, he wondered how people who were completely unaware of magic reacted when their children started to perform impossible feats. He wondered if they were locked in closets as well, or if anything more extreme happened.

Harry set out his school books on the small shelf above his desk. And separated his assignments into two piles of finished and unfinished work. With that he could focus on the letter that had been folded into his Charms essay:

**_I do not need to tell you how important it is for my identity to remain are still many things that you are unaware of, however, after this school year I will not tolerate any lack of knowledge in certain subjects. Know everything that you can find about your history, and my own. It is imperative. You are young, but you are not a child. At any rate, I am not at liberty to treat you as one; for your sake._**

The letter was unsigned, but Harry knew exactly who it was from, as he'd had no other contact with others beside Lord Riddle and the Malfoys. He did not know exactly what to say in response. It was clear that Lord Riddle was giving him an out, but he had no idea what that meant. If Harry wanted, he would not have to return to his parents' murder, but did that also mean that he would have to return to the Dursleys. What more could he learn about his family that he had not already learned from Lord Riddle and the Professor's who were so adamant in comparing his intelligence to his mother's, or his taking to flying like his father.

That night, his sleep was incredibly restless and by the time he woke up the next morning he was annoyed. Mainly with Dumbledore, but also by the ambiguity of the letter.

Today was Saturday, therefore nearly all of the upper years were in Hogsmeade as it was already past ten by the time Harry made it down to the Great Hall. It was nearing brunch, a meal time served exclusively on the weekends for the late sleepers. Harry was hardly a late sleeper, but it did help him blend in more as most of the student body opted to start the weekends later than the weekdays. He was supposed to have a "meeting" with Professor Snape.

Harry did not know what to think of Professor Snape; the man was dark and brooding, he often shot Harry nasty glares during Potions lectures, but he left him alone during practicals. Harry had quickly learned that brewing in a classroom full of inexperienced brewers was completely different than brewing one on one with a competent wizard like Lord Riddle. The calm that he had normally associated with brewing was completely abandoned. He had to be hyper aware of the actions of everyone surrounding him. For that, he could respect Professor Snape: injuries were impossible to avoid in a class like this, but so far not one student had died in any of his classes.

Yet, he could not avoid the feeling that there was something more to Professor Snape than everyone knew about him. He had been a Death Eater, Harry was certain, he'd discovered some sort of register of names (many deceased or in Azkaban) from an old copy of the Daily Prophet, attached to an article of acquitted persons. Apparently, Snape and Malfoy were two of the persons cleared of espionage among other war crimes.

In short, he was hiding something and probably dangerous. It was obvious that Dumbledore trusted him, and Harry wondered if the Potions Master knew that Lord Riddle had returned.

"Harry."

Harry was slightly surprised when the Malfoy heir slid into the seat next to him at the Ravenclaw table. There were no rules against people from other houses sharing tables, though the Slytherins were the least likely to stray.

"Hello, Malfoy. I have a question."

The two ever present bodyguards; Crabbe and Goyle sat across from them, and Harry really had no intention of watching them shove food into their mouths like uncontrollable Gryffindors.

"Whatever I can do to help."

"Right. Where would I find information on my family ancestry that would have normally been told to me by my parents?"

Malfoy seemed a little bit disjointed by the question, but he recovered well enough. Harry did not like that; the way Malfoy respected him for no reason. He knew that the reason was because of Lord Riddle, and not for himself. He really did not have to prove anything to anyone, but he at least wanted to be respected for his own person. Not for his parents, or the Boy Who Lived, and definitely not because of the influence of Lord Riddle,

"Normally, that type of information would be kept in the main family manor, but Potter Manor was destroyed during the First War. It is likely that it could be in the main Potter vault, but you would not have access to that until you reach your Heir Apparent status in three years' time. There are potions that can determine heredity, and then there is the Blood Test performed by Gringotts to ascertain your rights as the Heir. The only other way is highly unlikely, but there are some wizarding geneology texts that could possibly provide some information for you."

The answer was so fluid Harry wondered if it was rehearsed. For some reason he needed to find out this information. It seemed that all of the people who were personally connected to his family was at Hogwarts or dead. It was incredibly odd that Wizarding Britain seemed so disconnected from the rest of the world. He did not think that any other wizarding communities centered their operations around one singular school.

"Thank you, Malfoy. I'll be going. I have a meeting with Professor Snape."

Harry had no idea if Malfoy reported information back to Lord Riddle or not, but he knew that Malfoy at least told his father everything, and he hoped that he would let that bit of information slip into his correspondence. He really could not trust the wizard unless Lord Riddle did.

In truth, he did not really know who to trust. In the Muggle world he had been lonely. The Dursleys had made it impossible for him to have friends, and they hated him with a passion. In the Wizarding World, it was as if everyone was simply apathetic to him. They felt sorry for him, but he had no friends and no one to rely on, at least at Hogwarts. He was really starting to hate the place.

He ate a few bites of food before leaving Malfoy and his friends at Ravenclaw table. If there was one part of the castle that had numerous shortcuts, it was the dungeons. The lower floors were home to both Hufflepuff and Slytherin, and great pains were taken to keep those two parts of the castle separated with invisible walls, false hallways and dead ends. It was a nightmare to anyone who simply wanted to sneak in and cause trouble.

The Potions classrooms were actually closest to the Hufflepuff common rooms, which were across from a huge painting of a bowl of fruit. It had the appearance of a stack of oak barrels filled with who know what. It was random enough, and he could find no outward clues of how to get in, but Harry was more curious about the painting. He could feel a bit of House Elf magic around the area and he wondered if that was where they slept. A home to hundreds had to have at least a thousand house elves.

The Slytherin dorms were much further back, down several twisting corridors. Harry had not bothered to try and find them. It simply was not worth it. Harry was meant to meet the Professor in the main Potions classroom. It was large, used for first and second years, and did well to prevent any accidents that could occur from standing to closely to someone brewing a potion: like jarring their arms when they are stirring or tossing something into the wrong cauldron at the wrong time.

Professor Snape was already in the classroom when he arrived, and surprisingly enough there was a cauldron and several ingredients already set up at one of the workbenches. Harry was curious as to what exactly was going to happen with this impromptu Potions practical.

"Good morning, Professor."

"Potter. You will brew a nutrient potion. It is a second year potion, but I do not doubt that you would be able to complete it without fail if your previous work is any indication. The instructions are on the board."

That was not exactly how Harry had envisioned the conversation, but it was obviously the end of the discussion. If Professor Snape really was in league with the Headmaster, then Harry could not just start asking a bunch of questions about his loyalty to the Dark Lord. Technically, even if Professor Snape was loyal to the Dark Lord then he would be even more adamant in denying it.

He began to work on the potion with glances to the dark haired Professor. He was dressed in his perfunctory black robes, but they were not teacher's robes with the rows of silver threaded buttons down the front, and his hair was pulled back. If anything, he almost looked more intimidating then when he was actively being intimidating. The potion took less than an hour to brew and a little more than that to set, so Harry poured it the designated vials, and began to clean up his station.

"I do not need any nutrient potions, Professor."

"I am well aware, Potter. Yet you came and brewed them anyway. You could have simply refused."

"It seems like the Headmaster is not listening to a word I say, about the Dursleys."

A dark look passed across the Professor's face and Harry wondered what that meant. Of course he could talk to his Head of House, but it seemed like Snape could influence Dumbledore, and he needed someone like Snape to believe him.

"If you do not come out openly and say what it is you need to say then there is nothing that I can do or say in your favor. If you would not mind, Potter. I have some work to do of my own. You may leave the potions where they are and collect them at a later time from Madame Pomfrey."

Harry was not impressed and with as much control as he could possibly force himself to have, he left.


	3. Yule

**A/N: This is the third chapter and the last piece of the first part. The second part will pick up during the summer, but I have no idea ****where****. Lightly edited, and un-beta'd. Stay tuned!**

Chapter Three: Yule

October and November had both passed in haste. After his conversation with Professor Snape, Harry found himself spending much of his time with the Potions Master on Saturday mornings. Though they mainly spent a great deal of the time talking about and brewing potions, Professor Snape sometimes let some information slip through about his mother.

They had been friends once, and Harry found it hard to believe that his mother had been friends with a Death Eater, but it was true. Snape had never outright admitted to being a Death Eater, but he also did not deny it. At the same time, Harry would never dare ask such an intrusive question. It was obvious that Snape was the type of person who bottled up a lot of pain inside of him. Those Saturday mornings were the only time when Harry felt as though he had someone else to confide in.

Then there was the Malfoy heir. Harry could admire his persistence, but he would have rather been friends with someone who was so not obviously under orders to be friends with him. He did not really have much of a choice but to be polite to Draco though. The Malfoys had invited him to spend Yule at the Malfoy Manor.

He was worried. His response to Lord Riddle had been rigid and hardly telling. He was not sure if he would see Lord Riddle at Malfoy Manor. It had been a great surprise to him when he received a package during the first week of December, along with many others. It was not Alsafi who delivered the package, but two small black ravens. It was definitely curious and it drew the attention of someone Harry had been staunchly avoiding. Harry had not spoken to Professor Dumbledore since the meeting back in October, but that did not mean the wizard did not wish to speak with him-he simply avoided Terry Boot.

The package was an early Yule gift: dress robes. The Malfoys were known for their extravagant Yule and Solstice Celebrations, and while the clothes Riddle provided were of the highest quality they were nowhere near as formal as the dark blue robes he had been presented with. It was reassuring.

With Yule came the Muggle Christmas that Harry had never participated in. Students began exchanging gifts as early as possible with the promise to not open them until the twenty-fifth. Surprisingly, Harry had received a few small presents and well wishes, though he gave nearly all of the chocolates away. Professor Snape had given him a copy of a text: Teaching Potions by Salazar Slytherin himself, but he made a large show of making Harry know that it was not a gift. Especially after Harry had given him his first permanent Transfiguration.

He remembered the lesson as clearly as anything:

**_"Mr. Potter, are you having trouble with the transfiguration?"_**

**_It was their first practical lesson, shared with Gryffindor. Harry did not think that any other situation could be more embarrassing than failing at this when he excelled in so many other subjects. He liked to think that he understood the theory of Transfiguration better than any first year, but for some reason what he pictured in his mind was not what he produced._**

**_"To transfigure an object, you have to picture the new object in your mind."_**

**_It was the most basic of things, and while he was not the only one who had yet to transfigure the teacup, only a few remained. Nearly all of the Ravenclaws had done it._**

**_"True Mr. Potter. You know the theory, so put down your wand and find the magic for it. Magic does not just come out of thin air you know, you have to gather it to you from inside you. Subjects like Charms uses latent magic already in the environment and the wand. Transfigurations require a different branch of your magic. You actually have to find it."_**

**_It made Harry think. The magic he learned in school was quite different from the Magical Theory he studied on his own. Most Theorists believed that magic could be better practiced without a wand. It was wilder and in certain aspects more powerful. The difference between magics like Charms and Transfiguration was that one cloaked the appearance of something and the other changed it completely (whether that change be temporary or permanent). Feeling like a scolded child, Harry could not help but think that learning in school was making him lazy._**

**_By the end of the class, he had managed to transfigure the teacup into an inkwell after first blowing it apart with his magic._**

The inkwell now sat on the Potions Master's desk, black porcelain and as inconspicuous as any other inkwell.

After that class, Harry felt even more on edge than normal. He wondered if everyone felt like that, but now that he could actually feel his magic, it was much easier to direct it. It surrounded him constantly, whereas before it was just in one small tightly coiled ball. Before, it was as if he did not have magic at all, and he was simply going through the motions.

When he asked Professor Snape his opinion on the matter, he simply told him that it came from trying to hold in magical outbursts as a child and that he had experienced much the same thing when he was child. Two weeks had passed since the class, and Harry was glad that the first semester of school was over.

Midterms had come and gone with mostly theoretical essays and individual projects that left very little to the imagination. The only really practical examination had been in Defense Against the Dark Arts, and they needed to be able to perform a Protego shield. To be completely honest, Harry wondered what kind of nutjob Dumbledore had to be to hire someone like Professor Igby to teach Defense. It was obvious the wizard thought there was no danger to defend against.

Harry packed all of his belongings into his trunk a day before they were meant to leave the castle. He was truly contemplating whether or not he should return to the school. He almost did not want to, but he could not very well stay at Malfoy Manor until he was fourteen and granted emancipation.

Even now as he shrunk his trunk and checked his room once more for anything left behind, he did not feel anything connecting him to the place. In fact, after he had gotten his hands on a wizarding genealogy book which led to a book on wizarding wars he did not feel particularly connected to anywhere.

Draco was waiting for him, and with his shrunken trunk in his trouser pocket he left the room and made his way to the Main Entrance hall.

It had been a little more than six months, but every time Harry stepped out onto the front steps of the school he could feel a bit of the awe from the first time he had seen the grounds. It had been days after their arrival: his first flying lesson. The Ravenclaws had been paired with the Hufflepuffs for the class, and Harry had truly learned to appreciate Hogwarts from the sky. Just before twilight, the castle had been lit in a magnificent light.

Even if he had anyone to share it with, Harry did not think that he could tell someone exactly how impersonally beautiful the castle was to him: he simply did not have the words.

Leaving Hogwarts was much different than arriving. Unlike when they first arrived, they would not be taking the boats, but instead fanciful, yet garish black carriages drawn by invisible horse-like creatures that Harry knew to be threstrals. The Malfoy heir stood by one of them, and if he was unnerved by the individual creature that he was standing so close to, he did not show it. Harry wondered if the Slytherin boy was even aware that they existed. Not everyone read _Hogwarts, A History_, and not many school children had seen death after all.

He was met with no resistance as they left the school grounds for the Hogwarts Express that would take them back to the King's Cross. A large part of him had anticipated the Headmaster attempting to stop him from going to the home of a person accused of supporting the Dark Lord, and he had researched the subject extensively, and the only conclusion that he could reach was that Dumbledore did not want to expose himself as Harry's Magical Guardian.

Harry knew that conversation had to happen. Self-appointed Magical Guardians really had no authority once that claim was disputed, but for Harry to dispute the claim he needed to know. Technically, he was not supposed to know.

Malfoy was mildly talkative throughout the trip. He knew several methods of wizarding transportation, and he had no idea why they were using the slowest ones. Hogwarts had more fireplaces than he cared to count: at least one should have been set up for Floo travel. He mentioned as much to Draco.

"The truth, I'm not sure, but Father speculates the reason why they will not set up the Floo is because it excludes Muggleborns. Before, when Father was in school he could Floo directly to the Manor, but after Dumbledore became Headmaster things had changed."

"Why do you think that is?"

"Most people will tell you safety. He was making Hogwarts safe, the Dark Lord was on the rise, but this was during the time just after Grindelwald. It simply doesn't add up."

"And in your opinion?"

"I can only assume that blocking the Floo like that was mainly a strike against pureblood wizards."

He did not elaborate and Harry did not ask him to. He could understand Malfoy's point. At times, it seemed that Hogwarts catered more to Muggleborn students than he thought was appropriate. When Yule had started days ago he had expected at least a feast in honor of the Winter Solstice, maybe even a sacrifice to Magic, but nothing of the sort that was standard wizarding practices happened. It was completely ignored. Even last night, the Headmaster had wished everyone "Merry Christmas" at dinner, but made no mention of Yule. It was distasteful, at best and downright blasphemy at worse.

He still did not know much about the wizarding world, he had yet to experience a lot of it; only what he read. He could not imagine that a majority of the wizarding population would want to give up a lot of their ancient traditions to make the influx of Muggleborns feel more comfortable. Something like Yule was major.

After they arrived back in London, it was a Portkey that whisked them away. Malfoy Manor looked exactly the same as he remembered. The Portkey had transported them to the same sitting room Harry remembered from their trip to Diagon had grown used to Portkeying. Lord Riddle preferred to Portkey from Gaunt Manor to the Malfoys, and the Malfoys preferred the Portkey so that everyone could travel at the same time.

Both the Lord and the Lady of the Manor were there to greet them when they arrived, and for a moment Harry felt oddly as if he were apart of the family. Lady Narcissa had greeted him as warmly as she would a close relative. It was literally one of the only times he had ever been hugged.

"Boys, go get settled into your rooms and then we will talk over lunch at one."

Harry felt oddly complacent and followed the familiar route to the bedroom he had occupied last summer.

* * *

Lord Riddle had been mysteriously absent from the whole first week of the holidays. This time last year they had performed the Sacrifice ceremony together, and though Harry had not been familiar with the practices at the time, it was the first time he had ever been included in any holiday tradition, ever. It certainly did mean a lot to him: especially since the Malfoys had already performed the Sacrifice before the boys had returned from school.

And if that wasn't enough, Harry found himself missing Gideon. He had left the small cat at Hogwarts. Travel by Portkey was not exactly recommended for animals, but Harry had grown attached to his constant companion; even when he was off hunting mice and other small rodents on the school grounds.

Harry sighed. So far, it had been quite a lonely start to the third week of December. The Winter Solstice was upon them. Harry also could not help but be reminded that they were already more than halfway through the school break. Three and a half weeks were not nearly enough time spent away from Hogwarts.

As it were, Harry was curious as to who else knew about his association with Lord Riddle. So later that night when he stood next to Draco at the Malfoy's Yule Ball, he was shocked when Lord Voldemort was introduced.

The inhumanly tall man with the appearance of a pale, skeletal snake-like being. Harry had never seen anything like it, and if had ever wanted a monster to hate for the murder of his parents then he was staring at it. Dressed in the blackest black with the most vivid red eyes. Harry felt like he was looking at the embodiment of Hell if there was one. Harry had never met Lord Riddle's Voldemort persona. The entrance that he made would be an image burned into his memory for months to come.

He was being childish, but a small part of him did not want to associate the grotesque being of Lord Voldemort, with the handsome and intelligent Lord Riddle. It seemed wrong, and yet Harry was almost satisfied with knowing that Lord Riddle was actually there, even if he was under a guise.

Glamoured once again, Harry did not even have the chance to meet Lord Voldemort as himself, not that he minded. He silently vowed to himself that he would never think of Lord Voldemort as the real Lord Riddle.

The excitement had only begun, as Harry witnessed his first Wizarding Duel between two fully trained grown wizards. Draco had told him of the wizarding tournaments that used to be such a huge factor in international relations between Britain and elsewhere. While other wizarding communities still participated in the games, Britain had isolated itself. Harry found that the knowledge left a bitter taste in his mouth.

It was interesting to see the different techniques between the two, obviously Dark, wizards. They were equal in strength and power, but they moved in ways that were obviously meant to exploit the other's weaknesses. Harry could only wish to duel like that one day.

Once the Duel was over, Harry escaped. While had been thoroughly impressed by the rather bloody fight, which had become physical quickly, he could hardly dance.. Harry was no stranger to blood, but if Defense Against the Dark Arts was to be taken seriously in the school setting, then he could expect all of his opponents to simply wait for him to fire a spell. The physicality of it barely entered the picture, and Harry found that amusing. If magic was throughout the body, then fighting with wands was essentially extending the magic. It made sense for the fight to be physical. There was as much emotion in magic as there was in any human being.

"Are you hiding, Harry."

Inwardly, Harry cringed. Even Lord Voldemort's voice sounded different from Lord Riddle's and he desperately did not want to be anywhere near Lord Riddle when he was like this. He stood out on a terrace hidden by heavy drapes. He'd closed the french doors behind him, but he had not heard them open.

"No, just tired."

Hardly true. Harry did not get tired, at least consciously. His body could be physically tired, but he did not have the capacity to admit that as truth. The cold December air whipped around him, it had yet to snow in Southern Britain, and Harry found that odd. Scotland was under mountains of snow, but the lands surroundings Malfoy Manor were as green and barren as if they were in the middle of a cool summer day.

"You response to my letter was rather coy. Was there a reason for that?"

"Yes. I was hoping to see you in person-"

"That was rather arrogant, assuming that you would see me."

Harry knew what he meant. Technically, he wasn't really seeing Lord Riddle at the moment. Lord Voldemort stood to the left of him, almost directly behind him and close enough to reach out and touch him. Harry tried to stifle his nervousness, but it was nearly impossible.

"I apologize. Even with the liberty to use Draco's owl, I believe that Dumbledore would find a way to track my movements."

Harry answered truthfully. In part, he did believe that Dumbledore was watching him whenever he left Ravenclaw tower. He did not know if he was using House Elves to do it, or the portraits, or even a combination of both, but he was definitely doing it. Harry hated it.

"The robes look nice on you, I am glad that you chose to wear them."

"Thank you, m'lord."

It was an obvious change in topic and Harry had added the title as an afterthought. He wondered if it would alert Lord Riddle to how uncomfortable he was in the current situation or if they would just ignore the proverbial white elephant.

"I know that you are uncomfortable talking to me like this, no more than I am uncomfortable talking to you like that, however it is necessary. Lord Voldemort is the distraction that I need to make the necessary moves to change everything that is disagreeable in the wizarding world."

Harry could understand that. He had already witnessed so much already, and he wondered just how deep the bias ran.

"Have you always been able to change your appearance at will?"

Harry asked curiously. From what he had read only Metamorphogus could change their physical appearance naturally. There had never been an indication that Lord Riddle was one.

"No, I had help."

"Did you look like that when you killed my parents?"

Harry couldn't see the Dark Lord's face, but he could feel the magic around him growing colder. They had talked about that night extensively, though as unemotional as Lord Riddle tried to appear, Harry knew that Lord Riddle did not like to talk about it.

It was perhaps too blunt a question because for a long while Harry did not think that Lord Voldemort was going to answer. The answer to the question was not really important, but Harry was curious. If his parents had faced Lord Voldemort, had they felt the overwhelming fear that Harry was sure he would have felt if he did not know Lord Riddle. Like most of the adults in the room, would they have been terrified out of their minds or would they have ignored his appearance. They had to squash their fears somehow in order to fight him, though from what Harry understood about the night there had not been much of a fight.

Lord Voldemort never did answer his question. he stood outside in the frigid cold hours after the Yule Ball had ended and the first snow Malfoy Manor had seen that year began to hit the ground.

* * *

After that, Harry worked to actively avoid nearly every one. Lord Riddle never did make another appearance, and so Harry spent most of his time in the Library studying wizarding genealogy. He learned quite a lot about the Potter history, though there were obviously some blank spots that could only be filled in by someone of the line. He was closely related to the Blacks (they had married into the family twice) in four generations.

That was one thing that struck Harry as odd. Purebloods were considered pureblood when they hailed from a long line of magical beings on both sides. In some instances, even half-bloods, like Harry, were considered purebloods if they married a pureblood. And while interbreeding seemed to be a thing of happenstance, there were quite a few pureblood families that simply ceased to exist.

He wondered what happened to those families.

Three days after the Winter Solstice, which also happened to be New Year's Day he and Draco returned to Hogwarts a day before the majority of the students would. Again, Harry felt like it was too soon to be back in the castle. He was glad to see Gideon, and even his first order of business was to have tea with Professor Snape.

Still, Harry did not know what to think of the Professor's passivity toward him. Snape had been absent from the Celebrations at the Malfoy Manor, and Harry wondered if that was indication of whether or not he could be trusted with information about Lord Voldemort. There was nothing about Professor Snape that suggested to Harry that the man was a Muggle lover, only that he supported Dumbledore. He could easily put two and two together: when the Dark Lord fell Dumbledore kept Snape out of Azkaban.

"Professor, can you tell me about the war?"

"The war is over, Potter."

His words were harsh, and it almost convinced Harry that he had asked the right person about it. Any of the Professors could have been involved in the war, but Snape was younger. He would have grown up in it. He would have seen things from a different perspective.

"The Malfoys don't think so."

Harry did not really want another war. He doubted Lord Riddle did either, otherwise they would have just picked up where they left off: starting with Harry's death and garnering new followers. Everyone seemed to ignore the fact that the twenty or so Death Eaters in prison could not be the only ones, there had to be hundreds who remained free and unidentified.

Snape blew out a deep breath. Harry had never seen the man produce as many emotions as he was now. Usually, it was limited to fury at a student or general dissatisfaction with his surroundings.

"There are still those who will want to kill you for what happened all those years ago. There are still those who are angry because they lost."

"Well, it doesn't seem like Dumbledore won anyway. There's still prejudice, as two-sided as ever. People are hateful toward Muggleborns because of their Muggle influence and they hate us because of our blood supremacist ways."

Harry spat out angrily. If Snape was surprised by his words he did well to not show it.

"And you believe that pureblood wizards are superior to everyone else though you yourself is not even pureblood."

"That's not what I believe at all. Wizards are superior to Muggles, naturally. They may have their technology and innovation, but so do we. But that is besides the point, this is the Wizarding World, not the Muggle World. The two are separate for a reason."

Harry replied adamantly. So far, Snape had not revealed much of anything about his alliances, and he felt that the conversation was going nowhere. He had no problem letting his opinion be known, but of course that would not be the smart thing to do at the moment. Even as lonely and friendless as he was, he was still the Boy Who Lived.

"You wanted to know about the war, Potter? People died, brutal and unkind deaths. Innocent people were tortured, unknowing Muggles were picked off the street for fun and games. The Dark Lord made a habit out of experimenting Magical weaponry on nonmagical people. Everyone likes to pretend that the war did not start until two or three years before you were born, but by then it had been going on for more than twenty years. There are generations of families within the service of the Dark Lord and they will continue to do so..."

"You speak as if he is not defeated. I thought you said the war was over."

"The war is over, Potter, however that does not mean another one cannot start."

"And where am I supposed to fit in to all this. You said people died brutally, but the Dark Lord came after my family personally. I want to know why."

"I am not at liberty to discuss this with you. Ask Dumbledore."

After that, Harry chose to avoid the topic of the war when speaking to Professor Snape instead focusing on Potions and the upcoming Finals.

The days were passing by quickly enough, but it wasn't until the end of May that the snow finally began to clear away and the frigidity of Winter broke under the prospect of Spring. The weather was marginally warmer, but it would be days still before type of comfortableness could be achieved outside without a warming charm.

And as April quickly approached, Harry found himself not thinking so much on the Finals and End-of-the-Year Projects as much as he was about the summer months. After everything that had happened he could not fathom going back to the Dursleys. There were rules against students using magic in the Muggle world, and Harry had no intention of being stuck without access to his magic for three months.


End file.
